The Way of the Fist
by Hybryd0
Summary: When the hockey team overhears something they don't like they decide to take matters into their own hands.  Sucks to be Sam.  Spoilers 2x19


Sam was in a foul mood as he stormed out of the choir room. After receiving variations of "how could you" all day he'd finally snapped. He didn't feel good at all about losing his temper, but the people he thought were his friends had basically said that two other people were possibly cheating on their significant others with him and that it was his fault somehow. And wasn't it damn hypocritical of half of those jerks to accuse _him_ of anything when he'd been the victim of a cheating girlfriend.

Worst of all had been Rachel, who had confronted him and Kurt _in the middle of the hall_ where everyone and their brother could listen in. What gave her the damn right anyway? And second of all, he couldn't believe that she would potentially out him like that in front of everyone.

He could admit to himself that his fury was a poor cover for the hurt he felt. How could they think so little of him? Did he really seem like the person who would tempt someone else to cheat on their significant other? He knew it was just cheaters worrying about other cheaters, but he felt the sting of their accusations in his heart.

Thankfully, he knew it was one day that his mother would be at the motel with his siblings so rather than go there angry, he decided to work out his aggression in the weight room first. The room was sparsely populated when he entered with only a few puckheads using the barbells. That meant the punching bag was open, so he quickly changed into his workout clothes and got to work.

He started off nice and easy, but the more he punched and kicked the bag the angrier he got. When was he going to earn a little respect from the rest of New Directions? Hadn't he proved himself time and time again to be reliable and honorable? Hell, he'd taken on Karofsky for Kurt when Finn, his almost brother at the time, hadn't been willing to even _say_ anything to the bully.

"Hey, faggot, practicing your fairy moves?"

Sam jerked around, breathing hard and covered in sweat. He was shocked to find himself facing what looked like the majority of the hockey team. A chill swept down his spine. Sam wasn't exactly a small guy-he was strong, fit, and fully capable of taking care of himself in a fair fight-but the hockey team was full of big guys and he could see malicious intent on their faces. They weren't looking for a fair fight.

"So, do you fuck the fag or do you like taking it up the ass?" The ringleader of the crowd sneered.

Sam was keyed up, his blood bumping hard and anger still warm in his belly, but it was a fight he couldn't win on his own. He flicked his eyes around, hoping for a sign of any of his teammates or to see if any of the three exits were clear. The puckheads had covered their bases, there wasn't a sign of any footballers and the exits were covered.

"You can't run away fag, you've got this one coming."

Unsurprisingly, because they were a pack of cowards, the attack came from behind. Someone shoved the punching bag into his back. The act itself didn't hurt, but the weight of it knocked him off balance and he stumbled into a sucker punch to his jaw. Then they were everywhere and despite being outnumbered he tried to give back as good as he got, but there were too many fists swinging.

Someone kicked the back of his right leg and he tipped off balance and a quick shove from in front sent him tumbling to the floor. There was no way he was going to just lie there and be a victim, but his attempts to get back up were useless. He was far outnumbered and they came at him from every direction. A particularly brutal kick to his gut knocked the breath out of him and then all he could do was curl into a ball and try to protect himself the best he could.

Things became a blur and Sam wasn't sure how long they kept it up. They were insulting him and cheering each other on, but he couldn't focus on what they were actually saying. All he could hear were the thumps of their kicks to his body. And he tried desperately to bite back any cries of pain, but he became less and less aware of himself.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, where things were gradually going fuzzy, he had a terrifying thought. They were going to beat him to death. They were going to beat him to death for something that wasn't even true (mostly, he wasn't gay he was bi but there was no way they'd understand something like that).

It took him a long time to realize that not only had they stopped, but that they were gone too. He let out the whine of agony that had built in his chest and rested his head on the floor, whimpering as the cold touched his hot skin. His whole body throbbed and he closed his eyes, ready to just go to sleep and pretend the whole awful thing didn't happen.

Sam wasn't even aware of anything around him until he felt a hand on his arm, but even that felt distant. Somewhere far away he heard someone talking, but he couldn't understand what was being said. It was like someone had stuffed cotton in his ears, but was still trying to talk to him.

He tried to open his eyes, but they stung fiercely and only his right one would crack open. It was enough for him to see Puck knelt beside him, phone to his ear. He couldn't understand what Puck was saying, but his friend looked frantic. Sam thought that was kind of strange-Puck never panicked. But if Puck was there then he was safe, so he closed his aching eye and relaxed.


End file.
